


Ira

by ind1go_ink



Series: Fake AH Crew - Power Plays [3]
Category: Game Grumps, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Child Abuse, Crossover, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, GTA AU, Interrogation, Other, Past Abuse, Psychological Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ind1go_ink/pseuds/ind1go_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It had started with Michael walking into the new crew’s territory, confident in his team’s ability to back him up when he needed it. It ended with a dark cold room, a blindfold over his eyes and mouth stuffed with something foul.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ira

**Author's Note:**

> Chris is NOT Chris Demarais! Also in-game refs hell yeah.  
> This is to give you an idea of one of the character's backgrounds. I'll be doing all of them eventually! (Hopefully)

It had started with Michael walking into the new crew’s territory, confident in his team’s ability to back him up when he needed it. It ended with a dark cold room, a blindfold over his eyes and mouth stuffed with something foul.

He carefully went through everything he could feel. Something hard was pressed to his legs and back. So he was on a chair. He flexed his fingers with difficulty. His feet felt tight in his shoes, swollen and hot. So they’d tied him to it. He cycled through the options. Short of breaking his wrists and somehow managing to untie himself, he was stuck.

His crew had his back though.

He was still relying on them when the blindfold was pulled away. Light flooded his eyes, and he winced, the gag was roughly yanked from his mouth.

“Eat.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but the smell that wafted towards his nose wasn’t. A cheeseburger. Michael raised his eyebrow, feeling the stiffness in his face.

“How am I supposed to eat it, dickshit?” His voice croaked. He needed water too. “You gonna spoon feed me?” He attempted a derisive smirk, but the only result he got was a hard jab to his thigh, making him curl up as the pain shot through his leg.

"We can starve you, asshole. You walked into _my_ territory. Tried to kill _my_ guys."

The voice now had a face as the man stepped into Michael's field of vision. He looked relatively young, but the scruff on his cheeks and shoulder-length brunette hair with it's singular blond streak aged him indefinitely.

“So what?” Michael spat.

“ _So_ , I’m trying to be at least a little civil here, man.”

The cheeseburger was held under his nose, and Michael’s eyes took in the ring on his left hand.

“You married?” He ignored the food, only relenting when the guy pressed the thing to his lips. He took a grudging bite, glaring at him. The guy flipped his hair from his eyes, grinning.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Huh.” Was Michael’s only comment. “Can I get some water?”

“Sure.”

He was being too nice, and Michael felt his lip twitch. What was this guy doing?

A bottle was held to his lips and he swallowed greedily, not missing the look in the guy’s eyes. When he turned his head away, he eyed the man as he eyed him.

“What?”

“So, what’s your deal?” The man slipped a knife from a sheath attached to his belt, flipping it in his palm with a nonchalance that had Michael quickly reevaluating just how far he was going to push his luck. “Why’d you end up with the A.H Crew?”

“What’s it to you?” He tried to bite the salt off his words but at the chuckle the guy gave in reply he felt the regret kick in.

“You’re _feisty_.” He sprang from the table, aiming the knife at his jugular in a very non-threatening way. “I like you. So, I’ll let you answer my question a second time. Why’d you end up with A.H Crew?”

He bit his lip, keeping his gaze on the ground. He was screwed either way. Sure, he hated the idea that someone he barely had an idea about would know his history, but what other choice did he have? He was lows on caps, and this guy didn’t seem the type to hesitate on killing. So, he relented.

His gaze pinned the guy, eyebrow quirking. “At least let me know your name?”

“The name’s Arin.” The toothy, flashy grin Arin gave him made Michael want to sneer.

“Alright, _Arin_ -” Michael keeps his body tense and his gaze on the guy. “ -Want me to start from the beginning? I was born Michael Jones, nicknamed Mogar, to two parents on May Thir-”

“Cut the shit.” Arin’s smiling dangerously at him.

“Fine,” He spits right back. “I joined the A.H Crew because I had nowhere else to go. I was stuck in this shithole city, starving and broken. Geoff took me in. Offered me a place when he found out I could k-kill.” He cursed himself mentally as he stumbled across the word.

“How was your first kill?” Arin looked as though he’d suddenly perked up, his eyes glinting brightly.

“What kind of question is that?” Michael could hear the growl to his voice and drew himself back. No sense in needlessly pissing this guy off.

“A pretty fucking simple one, Mike.”

“Don’t call me that.” It was a hiss, and Michael never lowered his gaze for a moment. “I was just a kid,” He ground out, hands instinctively flexing at the memory.

~~

_He’d been sitting on the curb outside the arcade, waiting for his best friend; Chris. When the lanky kid had shown, they’d spent hours in the arcade store, messing around and generally just wrecking stuff. It had been late, later than the both of them were allowed out, but they’d always fudged the rules. It had been a night like any other._

_Except it wasn’t._

_Chris was the first to be jumped, an arm hauling him backwards, a hand clamped over his mouth to cut off the abrupt scream. Michael turned to see the silhouette of a man, much larger than the both of them combined, dragging Chris backwards into a nearby alley. He turned to run, get help, do something - **anything** \- but rough hands grabbed him by the back of the shirt, slamming him against the ground before his hands were crushed together and with a pair of ‘crack’s and horrific burning shooting pains in his knees later he was rendered useless, dragged into the same alley as Chris._

_He could only watch as they proceeded to beat his best friend, watched with helpless eyes as they took everything fragile in both of them, and broke it with a fist to the face, a kick to the ribs. And it was only when Chris’s breath was gurgling in his throat, his face swollen beyond recognition, and when Michael heard a belt being undone that he struggled against the arm across his throat and **screamed**._

_A nearby shopkeeper came thundering into the alley, a shotgun aimed at the two men before the saviour swore and loosed a shot, scaring the men away._

_He went for Michael first, who was sobbing hysterically, unable to form the words that would save his best friend. The man pulled him away, carried him for his busted knee caps, but as they reached the mouth of the alley, Michael pushed himself out of the man’s arm, crawled back to the spot where Chris lay, breath coming harsh and uneven. He pleaded with the Gods, with the shop owner, on his own life to let Chris live. It was to no avail. His only best friend had died in his arms, pained tears growing stale on bruised, bloody cheeks and something in Michael broke that night. It had never repaired, and he’d never been good with stress anyway, and it was all his fucking **fault-**  
_

~

He snapped out of the flashback when he felt the sting on his cheek, signalling that Arin has slapped him. His chest was heaving, sweat soaking his hair and plastering it to his face, his eyes flickered from the ground to the walls, looking for an escape. His breath was coming too fast - _too fast, too much_ -, his chest tightening against the ropes that bound him.

“I need to get out,” He rasped out, wrists wrenching against the bindings. Arin shook his head.

“No way I’m letting you out.”

“Please!” He registered how desperate he sounded, got the sense that he probably looked like a weak piece of shit but he didn’t care. He needed _out_. “Please!” His breath strangled itself in his throat, tears pricking his eyes. He couldn’t _breathe_ , for fucks sake! “Let me go!” He wailed, thrashing and twisting against the ropes, only stopping when a rough hand gripped his hair and pulled his head back so that he was forced to look at Arin, who was glaring at him.

“What happened to you?” He murmured.

_Your fault. Your fault. You fucked up. It’s your fault._

“No…” He moaned, his hair tugging painfully against Arin’s grip as his head dropped to his chest. “No…”

_Your fault. You let him die. Killed them. Kill. But what does it matter? Matter._

“Please,” He whispered, eyelids fluttering as his eyes rolled in their sockets. “No…”

_You let him die. Die. Die. Fault. Wrong. Kill._

“No… Stop.” He was only aware of the tears falling from his cheeks without restraint when Arin presses a napkin to his face.

_Die. Dead. Death. You did it. Your fault. Fault. Ran. Run. Running. Hiding. Ran. Run. Hide. Hid. Dead. Run. Hide. Die._

“STOP,” He screamed, almost managing to topple the chair he was on over, the screws that held it in place, bolting it to the floor, whining pitifully in their sockets. A crack echoed around the room, and Michael’s left leg went limp from beneath him, a choked gasp leaving his overused lungs as pain shot whitehot up and down his thigh. The pain, however, cleared his head immediately and he pulled himself back in, huffing a shuddering breath of air out.

“Dude,” Arin almost sounded impressed. Maybe scared. “You, uh, alright?”

“Fine.” Michael growled, noticing in his heightened state the small shudder the building gave. They were here. His crew. His family.

So, when the door blew off it’s hinges, and Geoff stormed in, bazooka at the ready on his shoulder, Michael gave nothing away except a slight smirk as Geoff grabbed Arin, pushing him face first into the table and punching his lights out.

“Did they hurt you?” Geoff asked quickly as Arin’s body slithered to the ground. Michael shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes were stinging again, out of joy this time. He only wanted to get out of the chair and throw himself at Geoff for being his saviour.

Geoff untied his knots, helped him up and when they stumbled out of the entrance, his crew - Gavin, Jack, Ray, Ryan, Mica, and Griffon gave a cheer as they set on the building, wasting any enemy that dared approach. Ryan, with his whorled facepaint, eased Michael into the SUV, Mica crawling in behind him to tend to his injuries, mainly his wrists and ankles which were rubbed raw, weeping and bleeding. They were easily fixed, rubbed with iodine and rubbing alcohol, making Michael hiss at the deep-seated sting, and bandaged up with swarthy white gauze and cotton.

His mental injuries were a lot harder to deal with. He hadn’t said anything to Mica, but she could tell from the tremble in his hands and the flush at his throat, that something deeply upsetting had happened.

She wasn’t the one to breach the topic when they got back to HQ, it was Ray who had an unerring sense for these types of things.

When the knock sounded on Michael’s door, he almost didn’t want to answer but stood, hardening his expression and digging his nails in his palms to stop himself from shaking.

His eyes narrowed when he saw Ray standing on the threshold, looking suitably apologetic.“What?”

“Can I come in?” His voice was quiet but calm.

He wanted to say _not right now, piss off, I don’t need the pity_ but he found himself stepping aside, a lump in his throat.

Ray slipped past him, clapping a warm hand on his shoulder, before sitting beside his bed. Michael closed the door behind him, and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“So, what do you want?” Michael groused.

“What’s up?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like shit, and you’re upset. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Okay?” Michael kept his voice level, mentally cursing Ray’s sharpness. “I’m fine.”

“You came out of that building looking like the world had just ended,” Ray’s voice was sharp, knowing. Michael sighed.

“I… Had a breakdown.”

“What about?”

_Your fault. Dead._

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You don’t know that,” Ray replied quickly, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“I-I just can’t,” Michael breathed out, averting his gaze with clenched fists. It was too soon after the other flashback, his nerves were already frayed and wounded. His eyes glazed over the bandages around his wrists and ankles. “It’s too much.”

“Alright,” Ray didn’t look like he was going to move anytime soon. “Wanna play some GTA to take your mind off it?”

Michael smiled properly for the first time since he’s been trapped in that room. “Sure.”


End file.
